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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26190523">This Is Me Trying</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wealthywetsunny/pseuds/Wealthywetsunny'>Wealthywetsunny</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Gift of Giving [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Far Cry 5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Captivity, F/M, Fluff, Implied Relationship, Light Angst, Tags might change, arts and crafts projets</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:07:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,080</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26190523</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wealthywetsunny/pseuds/Wealthywetsunny</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Seeds have so rarely been described as nice and kind and deserving of love. Rook saw otherwise. She reached out to them once upon a time—and isn’t it only fair if they return the favor? Shame then that they’re out of their element and have no clue how gift giving works.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Female Deputy | Judge/Jacob Seed, Female Deputy | Judge/John Seed, Female Deputy | Judge/Joseph Seed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Gift of Giving [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1901983</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>82</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Jacob</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jacob has no obligation to return the favor. He knows this, he’s been over this exact sentiment for weeks, but it’s hard not to feel some kind of pressure to do </span>
  <em>
    <span>something. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Nor is it easy to see Rook as the same person she had been—an enemy meant to be conquered—after the gift she so graciously gave him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a strange gesture. Maybe an olive branch? If he had to guess it’s something else though, pity, empathy, just her bleeding heart that’s near run dry after all she’s done for this county. He must’ve shown a part of himself without realizing, and she must’ve liked what she saw. Liked it enough to make him a damn blanket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck him but he’s not heartless, despite what the rest of Hope thinks. He cares for people outside of his family. Once upon a time, years before Eden’s Gate came to fruition, he had friends. Rook seems like someone he would’ve been great pals with if things hadn’t gone tits up a while back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wouldn’t mind having her on his side. Someone to count on. It’s a feeling he misses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he gathers up what he can and sets to work making something for her. He doesn’t know how to knit like her, lord knows he doesn’t have the dexterity for it, but he picked up some skills in his army days. Particularly; whittling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s been a long time since he worked with his hands like this. Sat down on the forest floor after a good hunt, bent over with a small piece of wood in his hands and turning it into something marvelous. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He finishes out the day by making a wolf sitting on a rock with its head tipped, howling. He tucks it inside his bag and heads back to the Veteran Center. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He makes a rabbit next. He’s in his office, chucking wood shaving into a small trash can, when the door swings open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jacob barely looks up, too focused on finishing his bunny. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Johnny. Coulda knocked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John just clicks his tongue, unaffected, sliding into the seat across from Jacob. His desk separating them. “I heard the deputy is running around the mountains.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jacob keeps his eyes down, leaning his elbows on his knees as he digs the knife a little harder into the wood. “Is she?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John hums. Tilting his head to the side as he regards Jacob. “She’s been here for about a week.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jacob...did not know that. He honestly hadn’t. He was informed by his hunters at the start of the week that she was roaming around, but he didn’t send a party out to catch her and he assumed she had moved on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She certainly hadn’t caused any ruckus to draw his attention. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh,” it’s all Jacob can manage. How is he supposed to explain his lack of action? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you need help flushing her out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighs. Placing the knife and bunny down on his desk. “I’ve got my own methods, John. I appreciate the concern but you’re starting to sound like Joseph.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John winces and laughs. Scratching the back of his neck. “Sorry. I just...haven’t heard from you in a while.” He pauses, waits for Jacob to say something. He doesn’t and so John continues softly, glancing at the wooden animal. “You’re whittling now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John reaches out to grab the now finished rabbit, and it’s nothing but instincts that makes Jacob lurch forward to grab his wrist in a death grip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John’s eyes blow wide, staring up at Jacob. His mouth opens once, then twice. Reminiscent of a beached fish. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swallows roughly, his adam’s apple bobbing “Um...Jake? Can you let me go?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jacob falls back, doing exactly that and clearing his throat. “Yeah. Sorry.” He isn’t looking at John, he doesn’t want his brother to question why he’s acting the way he is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe we can get together sometime next week,” Jacob offers with a wave of his hand. Hoping that will be enough to placate him. It is—surprising for John—but maybe he sees right past the facade Jacob’s putting up and knows to leave well enough alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the end of the week Jacob has a whole collection of wooden little figurines, mostly animals, he feels she’d appreciate that. The real issue is trying to get them to Rook. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She managed to sneak into the Veteran Center to give him that blanket, and he’d have no problem doing the same, but he doesn’t know where she lives. She’s as nomadic as they come. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he’ll have to go and capture her. As terrible as that makes him feel. He’ll need to send out a hunting party just to give her a gift. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck his life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>.0.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s a spitting ball of rage when he approaches her. She’s cursing at him, grabbing stray twigs and rocks to throw in his direction. He even lets some hit him, just to make her feel better, but if anything his indifference makes her angrier. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighs, rubbing his eyes. “Can you just calm down?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rook scoffs and begins to pace. Her eyes are darting around wildly, searching for something. “Calm down? Seriously?” She laughs, “I mean what the fuck is this?” She gestures around to where he’s locked her up. She’s in a cage—he wouldn’t take the risk of anything else—but she’s been sequestered away from everyone else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s different. And she doesn’t like different. That usually means she’s about to be put through the ringer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon,” he kneels down, careful not to get too close, “I just brought you here to talk.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She narrows her eyes at him, but she quiets down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gives her a wry grin, “funny how just a month ago you were giving me gifts and now you’re cussing at me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never know what to expect from you, Jacob. That silly blanket could’ve meant nothing at all to you! It doesn’t have to change a thing!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t think that blanket was silly at all,” he murmurs, scooting closer and motioning for her to sit with him. Somewhat surprised when she listens. “I liked it.” He swallows past the lump in his throat and reaches into his back pocket. Tugging out a small cloth bag. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He weighs it in his hand for a moment before tossing it over to her. She flinches back, eyeing it warily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now that’d ruin the surprise. Go ahead and open it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rook nods, slowly picking it up and undoing the twine holding it closed. She peeks inside and her brows knit together. She glances up at him, lips pursing as she takes out the first thing that her fingers curl around. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh. </span>
  </em>
  <span>That’s all she says for her longest time as she turns over the figure in her hands—a mini plane—before turning the bag over and dumping out the rest of its contents. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jacob keeps careful track of her emotions, eyes flicking down to where her teeth sink into her bottom lip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She has the wolf he first made in her grasp, running her thumb over the grooved wood. “Did you make these?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t know you knew how.” She eyes him suspiciously. “This supposed to be some kind of truce, Seed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He snorts, the moment dulled. “Hardly. Think it could mean something else though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not joining you,” she snaps immediately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thought you’d say that.” He reaches out, goes slow because she’s apt to claw at his skin, and he brushes his fingers against her jaw. “That’s a shame. I’d be honored to have someone like you fighting beside me.” Jacob stands up, ignoring the curious way she’s looking at him. And he’s forced to swallow down the pain that floods his heart for how things have turned out. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. John</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>This is John’s wheelhouse. It’s where he feels most comfortable, buying sparkly, expensive  things that make people </span>
  <em>
    <span>ooh </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>ahh. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He’s done it thousands of times before for colleagues' birthdays and office Christmas parties. This should be easy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he’s struggling. He hates to admit it, and so he doesn’t. He keeps his struggles to himself. Internally he’s screaming. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The gift that she gave him was so sweet. It was handmade and from the heart. It’s why it made him teary-eyed, it’s why he sleeps with it every night. He can count on one hand how many people gifted him with something so sentimental. He wants to do the same. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s that lingering doubt that follows him though, is he talented enough? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s starting to think not. After all the failed sketches that end up crumpled in the trash can, he’s not good at making things at all. Which is fine, he has other manners of gift giving that hopefully won’t come off as fake or pretentious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wants Rook to know it’s from him, without a doubt left in her mind, and so he packs a dead crow away in a box and leaves it on the front doors of the Spread Eagle with her name on it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gets a radio call from her the next morning. Pulling him out the shower to answer her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“John? Fucking hell—John, I swear to god if you don’t answer me I’m storming your goddamn ranch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Calm down, Wrath. I’m here. What seems to be the problem?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The problem,” she stresses, “is the dead crow I’m currently staring at, all wrapped up like a present from a fucking cat. Is it supposed to be a present, John?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He bites his lip. Fiddling with a loose strand of wet hair that’s hanging in front of his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t exactly call it that. More of a...precursor...to a gift.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rook sighs, all drawn out and tired. “Is this because of the blanket? Look John, you don’t have to get me anything, really.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. You’re bad at this. Just stop.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her end of the radio clicks off. Falling silent and leaving him standing in the middle of his bathroom dripping wet. With a muted snarl he slams the radio back down on the sink and goes back to his shower to calm down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s half an hour later, when he’s toweling off and tugging on a pair of boxers, that he clicks his radio back on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about chocolate? Do you like chocolate?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Who doesn’t like sweets? He has a whole drawer full in his office. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“John…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Flowers?” He waits a minute, dries off his hair and snags his radio back when he gets no response. “Flowers </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>chocolate?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. Please, people will ask so many questions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He huffs, falling to sit down on his bed. Getting dressed momentarily forgotten. “Who cares what they think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do! Have you forgotten that we’re enemies?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not at all, deputy. And correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re the one who started this. You gave me that blanket.” He pauses, “and apparently you didn’t tell anyone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well…no.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He scoffs. Mutters a sharp “pride,” that he doesn’t let her hear. He pressed down on the button again to talk, “you said I deserved some kindness in my life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I feel like that’s a two way street then. You’re nice to me, I’m nice to you…” he tapers off. This kind of thing, all the messy emotions, it’s not something he’s good at. He wants to be good at it though, so long as it means that he’ll get to have a person like Rook in his life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A person who cares and sees past the mask he’s so carefully forged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just let me get you something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rook groans. “It’s too early to fight, John.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re the one fighting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, you're insufferable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John laughs and tosses his radio away on the bed. Getting dressed and drying his hair until he can slick it back. It shouldn’t be too hard to find something she’ll like. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>.0.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“John.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s busy, infinitely so, his family is moments away from arriving and are expecting a dinner he hasn’t even started. He doesn’t have time for Rook right now. And yet he picks up his radio and slots it between his ear and shoulder, twisting the stove on as he mutters a sharp “what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck is this gift?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiles, all pretenses of cooking dropped. “It arrived?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Yes, it did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you like it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighs. “It's...a lot. Christ I just made you a blanket. I can’t take this.” John’s about to argue, but she cuts him off. “I mean, a Rolex, really?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mhm. It matches my own. We’re a pair now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And the shoes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gucci.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rook sighs again, exasperated for reasons that he can’t figure out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re gorgeous but not practical for when I’m actively running for my life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John shakes his head angrily, moving to the cupboard to grab a box of pasta. It'll have to do. He slams it down on the counter a little harder than necessary. “You could, oh I dunno, stop running.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just for a week.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“John—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A day,” he cuts in. “Please. Just one day. I’ll show you all the wonders in life when you’re not constantly fighting me. I’ll show you that I’m not a bad man.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Through the radio he hears her move around as a bed creaks. “I never said you’re a bad man.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s been implied.” He lets the air hang heavy between them. Focusing on boiling water and taking out some vegetables to chop. He’s three carrots in when she talks again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright. One day. As thanks for the gifts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiles, a real genuine thing that makes his cheeks hurt. “Wonderful. How about you come over for dinner?” His family can wait, they’ll understand if he cancels, he’s making friends. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A friend! </span>
  </em>
  <span>John is going to have a friend!</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Joseph</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Those, uh, didn’t heal that well.” It’s the first time since she’s seen Joseph in a month and that’s what she says to him. God, she’s an idiot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Joseph takes it in stride, he looks down at his bare chest and gives her a hint of a smile. “They’ll fade with age. Or at least that’s what Jacob said.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well if anyone knows about burns I’d guess it’d be him.” Rook winces as soon as the words are out of her mouth. Coughing nervously and going to correct herself, but once again Joseph surprises her. He just laughs, leaning back on his palms as he regards her. Without his glasses on she can so clearly see him squinting at her past the sun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rook comes closer and sits across from him just to ease his eyes. She motions to her own face, asking a hesitant, “where are your aviators?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The burns on my face…” he fades off and sighs, “it hurts to wear them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nods quickly, looking down to fiddle with her hands in her lap. “Yeah, right. Stupid question, sorry.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They lapse into uneasy silence. Or at least it’s uneasy on her part. He always seems comfortable, no matter what the situation or who’s around. One of the perks of being God’s self assured prophet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually he lays down on his back to watch the clouds roll by. She scoots over to join him, an arm thrown over her stomach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She just nearly is about to doze off when he mumbles “Rook?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have something to show you, if you don’t have anywhere to be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighs, hand drifting to her radio out of habit. “I’m sure they’ll survive without me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joseph helps her stand, keeping a hand on her shoulder to guide her through the field and deeper into the forest. They’re headed in the opposite direction of his compound, and so she allows herself to fall compliantly under his grasp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hears the rush of water long before they reach their destination. And when she tries to ask Joseph where they’re going he only shushes her, telling her that it’s a surprise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to thank you for saving my life. And for the blanket of course. It’s very nice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“O-oh. Yeah,” she nods her head dumbly, peeking through the trees until she spots a waterfall. “Is this it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sort of. Take a seat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She does slow carefully, tracking his movements with a reserved curiosity as he wanders off towards a rocky formation and grabs a bag. She smiles, he planned this out then. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He falls down in front of her, silent as he pulls some stuff out and lays it down in front of them. “Nice day for a picnic, isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rook laughs, staring at him as he puts out food and plastic plates. “That’s what you brought me out here for? In the middle of a war. Only you, Joseph.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He huffs, the hint of a smile teasing his lips. “I’ve also got you a present.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ooh, I’ll take a present.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He goes off again behind the tree, emerging with what she immediately realizes to be a bouquet of flowers. It’s a mix of foliage that she can’t identify, but one in particular catches her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Flowers?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighs heavily as he sits down, handing them off to her. “It’s no blanket, but I’ve never tried my hand at any arts and crafts projects.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well they’re great it’s just…” she twists it in her hand, squinting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you don’t like them—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is poison ivy.” Slowly she puts the bouquet down. Clearing her throat as she stands up and walks over to the stream, kneeling down to dip her hands in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Behind her she hears Joseph’s internal panic. “W-what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Joseph—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, I’m so sorry.” He pauses, coming to kneel beside her. “I guess that’s what the rash was from?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hang on, hang on,” she laughs, scrubbing at her arms as she glances at him. “You went picking wild flowers, got a rash, and thought everything was fine?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugs, looking off sheepishly. “I’m sorry. I thought...I just wanted to return the favor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine, really.” She pulls her arms from the water, really she doesn’t know if that’s going to work at all. “Let’s eat, huh? It’s been a while since I could just relax.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And isn’t it funny that the first time she’s been able to kick back in so long is spent with someone she’s supposed to kill. That idea is starting to be pushed further and further away. Maybe one day she’ll even forget why she’s here in the first place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One can certainly dream. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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